


Love Lives

by QuillerQueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cursed Hyperion Heights, F/M, Hyperion Heights, Inspired by OQ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:43:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: It is Robin, not Regina/Roni, who remembers their true identity in Hyperion Heights.





	Love Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this lovely manip by FlaviaOttaviane: https://twitter.com/FlaviaOttaviane/status/1002645158020730882.

It's been months since he came back from the dead, came back to her—and she hasn’t the faintest clue.

 

Her name is Roni, and she's—what a bittersweet reference to his own past—a barkeep. Her hair is shorter now, gorgeous curls bouncing unbound as she throws back another shot of that liquor she favours, never once blinking at the burn. Her wardrobe, too, has undergone quite the change under the curse, jeans and shirts much different from Storybrooke’s crisp elegance—dark still, but more casual, edgy. Underneath all that, she's still Regina though—as sassy as ever, as sharp, too, and bold as brass.

 

Christ, he loves her.

 

And she fancies him, but won't go out with him no matter how much she admits she enjoys the flirting.

 

“I'm not relationship material,” she shrugs by way of explanation.

 

He offers to keep things casual, but she's not having it.

 

“You want more, though,” she says kindly, halting his words—apology or protest, he himself doesn’t know yet—with a raised hand. “And you should have it. You're one of the good ones, you know.”

 

So friends they remain. They still steal glances at the other's arms or arse, and tease each other mercilessly when caught in the act. He helps her close up every Friday, and she orders take-out for them. They eat at one of the tables, chat about everything and anything, and he says goodbye when her eyes start drooping (she always denies it, the wonderful, stubborn woman, and, fishing for a good retort, he’s invariably overcome by tenderness at the sight of her sleepy grin).

 

He's completely smitten with her—in this realm and all others—and she's no idea the connection they share.

 

Or perhaps she does know after all, deep down, in a well-hidden nook of that resilient heart of hers.

 

“Why the arrows for  _ Roni’s _ ?” he asks one Friday night as he wipes down the counter while she locks up, much more invested in the answer than would be wise, for she doesn't remember after all, and he's merely setting himself up for disappointment.

 

“No reason,” she shrugs. “Just liked the idea.” And his dejection must show, for she adds: “Not that deep, I know.”

 

“But you are.”

 

“Am I now?”

 

“That you are.”

 

For a brief moment, she looks...stumped. She tucks a lock behind her ear and collects herself, twisting that molten little smile into a would-be-sarcastic smirk.

 

“You're full of it, Lockwood.”

 

“And you're selling yourself short, milady.”

 

It's not the first time the term of endearment’s slipped out, but her reaction is new. She neither scoffs nor smirks, doesn't swat his arm playfully, but gives him a look he recognises—touched, vulnerable. She looks more like Regina than ever before, and his heart squeezes.

 

“Dinner at mine tonight,” she says simply, and he follows her, utterly perplexed at the privilege.

 

She warms up two plates of arroz con pollo, pours them some red wine, and has a movie playing in the background doomed to being ignored as they sit on the sofa and chat. He compliments the food, and she admits she's not much of a cook but this dish is a staple in her diet.

 

“Red pepper flakes?” he asks, well-acquainted with her not-so-secret, very versatile ingredient.

 

“Gives it some kick,” she smirks, scrunching up her nose just so.

 

It hits him in that very moment that he'd die for her all over again—and how much she'd hate to know that.

 

So he doesn't tell her, says nothing whatsoever as she sighs contentedly and pushes her plate further away on the coffee table, pleasantly full and wonderfully relaxed. He makes no comment about the tattoo that peeks out at him as her jeans ride down and tank top up, tries valiantly not to stare too avidly at the strip of skin thus revealed.

 

_         Bites _

_ Love Bleeds _

_         Dies _

 

“It’s pathetic, really,” she says with a knowing, rather self-deprecating smile as she tucks herself back in. “Bad break-up. Wanted to remind myself not to make the mistake of falling in love again. What better way than a tramp stamp, right?”

 

“Imagine what the sorry sod who inspired it must have done to remind himself not to be a witless wanker throwing away unimaginable good fortune.”

 

“I’m not sure I deserve all that, but I’ll take the compliment—no matter how over-the-top.”

 

“Are you saying I’m off my game? Because you’d most certainly be right.”

 

“I’d offer to help dust off your tricks, but...I guess that wouldn’t be fair, given—” she gestures vaguely between them, and Robin’s all too aware of the way his stomach somersaults at her barest touch. She pulls back a bit, worrying her lip with her teeth.

 

He won’t have her feeling guilty, though, never over this.

 

“I’m happy with whatever arrangement suits you best, I hope you know that.”

 

“Not happy,” she points out gloomily. “But content, maybe? I rather selfishly want to keep you in my life, Robin, even though I probably shouldn’t...”

 

“It is what we both want, Re-” He stops himself just in time, amends: “Roni. To be in each other’s lives, yeah?”

 

Except that isn’t quite true, is it? They’d wanted a life together, certainly, but a life of love and companionship, a family to raise their children in, to make memories together. Instead they’ve been robbed of even the ones they’d managed to gather in the little time allotted them amidst crisis after catastrophe, and now their children don’t remember them, or in Roland’s case are realms removed, and the bloody curse that’s done this to them is still at large.

 

Could he hope to break it some day, with her? Not now, not anytime soon, because even though her memories are fake, her fear of bringing doom upon her loved ones is very much real, stronger even than the curse to end all curses.

 

And so here they are.

 

Robin’s heart is untamable, racing wildly in uneven leaps and bounces as she sighs in response and scoots just a tad closer. They direct their attention to the screen, or pretend to. He tries not to move, not to spook her or come off as demanding, even though his arm practically itches to wrap around her shoulders, to pull her in close and settle comfortably against the backrest like they had on the sparse occasions afforded them back in Regina’s mansion. He doesn’t make a move—turns out he doesn't need to either.

 

She sinks into him gradually, gravitating closer the drowsier she gets, until her head grows heavy on his shoulder, her curls tickling his neck, her breath washing over him in soft puffs that grow ever more even as she dozes off.

 

In her sleep, she seeks him in a way she didn’t allow herself fully awake, groaning softly at the stiffness threatening her neck, until Robin shifts, sliding lower, guiding her with him so that she’s lying down properly, cheek resting over that stampeding heart of his that very nearly bursts from joy when her arm comes to rest heavy around his middle. He holds her hand, gently; caresses her arm with light fingers; presses feather-light kisses into her curls—and she nestles into him with a content sigh.

 

Everything settles then.

 

For a moment, there is peace.

 

Quiet before another storm—one in which she’ll be the one to come to him, and he the one to have to do the unthinkable and reject her advances, all for a cruel failsafe built into the curse that threatens the lives of the ones she loves most.


End file.
